


It's coronation's day!

by sendmeademon



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Coronation, F/F, Queen Historia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendmeademon/pseuds/sendmeademon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christa the Goddess has died for Historia the Queen to be born. The personalities of the girl pile up, and she couldn't care less about it.</p><p>«This time, Ymir, I'll be the one saving you.»</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's coronation's day!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First of all, this fic is already posted on my fanfiction page, sendmeademon. Well, it's in Spanish there, but still.  
> I'm a huge nerd. The words used for Historia's coronations are real (well, they are adapted, of course), they are the ritual words in Great Britain. But what can I say? They are in Wikipedia and they make this look cooler than it actually is. And the title is a line from Anna of Arendelle, in Frozen, in case you hadn't noticed.  
> And I say, yes! That figure was Ymir. In fact, a friend wrote Ymir's POV for this, but she is too shy to upload it. Perhaps I will ask her for permission and upload it for her. Idk.  
> Also. Historia as Queen is damn hot and powerful. My dear ladies, I died.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

Time is very fast for those who are scared, very short for those who celebrate, very long for those who lament, or so thinks Historia, based on her experience. Like a colourful fish who escapes from between the claws of a crocodile, desperate, she swims towards the glorious day. Who would have said that the truthful Queen in the Walls doesn't wish to be so, if they saw her decision and solemnity as she repeats her royal votes? She admires the beauty and softness of the clothes in her dress, she approves her magnificent crown, she makes an effort in her etiquette classes. Nobody pays attention to her lifeless look, empty. The everlasting smile in her lips seems to soften it and cheer her face up enough for the people who so carefully adore and idolize her.

Historia feels like an offering, a cheap trick to calm down the people, to convince it that everything it going okay, perfect, how would it not be? The true Historia would have cried against it, outraged at them treating the village like stupid cattle when they are the ones who support the country.

Oh, really? Would she have done that? And Christa, what would have she done? Crying and smiling and sacrificing, she remembers with disdain. Which is not very far from what she is currently doing. She has been emptied so many times, forcing her to change of character like her personality was a shirt, that Historia is not sure about who is who, or if she is in fact someone. So many effort poured on every stage of her life, for it to be torn apart this fast. Perhaps she should stop caring.

There was a time when she hadn't cared about being someone in limbo, fake, a graceful rag doll full of lies. When she embraced Ymir with her thin arms she felt really strong, and when she raised her tiny body after they accomplished a mission, the seudonim of Wings of Freedom gained meaning. It wasn't the best life, she had to admit. Titans were still scary and she was afraid, like everyone, and dealing with wounds afterwards wasn't very pleasant; but if she had Ymir with her, she could do anything.

Good things don't last in her life, it's been proven that she's cursed and everybody leaves, at some point, and they are never enough. Is it selfish to wish to be loved? Frida, her nice sister, the only one who had cared about her in her childhood, trying to sew the mistakes of their horrible father; and her, Ymir, her protector, her life, her heart. Once they tear off your heart from your chest, you have to survive as good as you can.

The day of her coronation arrives before she expects it. Her maidens awake her, chattering and smiling, and it is so soon the sun only throws faint rays of light. While they make her hurry and they get her ready, she leaves them do whatever they want, wandering her sight over the luxury that surrounds her. High roofs, light furniture, huge windows, aromatic flowers in every visible place. Not a single paint of the fake dinasty hanging on her walls, so they are empty until her paintor finishes her own, the first of the real kingdom.

Historia's room is as impersonal as herself. She has brought nothing from the shacks, because she had literally nothing to bring. Soldiers only own their memories and their willpower.

"Please, Your Grace, raise your chin."

"If you were so kind to stick your arms to your body, Your Grace..."

"Your Grace, we are going to put on your shoes, sit down."

Who is that 'Your Grace'? It is very confusing, and she gladly bubbles her mind up, smiling kindly when she sees their mouths moving or their eyes looking at her. After what could have been an eternity or just a blink of the eye, the maidens approve her appearance. Some even stare at her with wet eyes. "Our only Queen," they repeat. "You look lovely," they praise her. Hipocrites. Not even a month ago they didn't know her, and they sang for a cruel, uninterested Kind. Historia doesn't want the praise of such people.

She can hear cheers, not very far away. The castle is surrounded, there are parties in every town, and most farmers have made the long travel to greet their new ruler, so the murmur from the villagers is more like an impatient cry that mixes with the ones from the heralds. "Come, we'll serve a great feast! And, if you're lucky, Queen Historia will allow you to kiss her beautiful hand! Who would miss it, pals?"

The melody is familiar, she has heard this band playing in one of the countless courtyards of the castle. She has to wait behind the main gate until it changes to one the musics have assured to be more trascendental, more solemn, and the shouting can be heard everywhere:

"Do you see her on top of the staircase, relaxed yet serious, graceful yet strong?"

"She looks like a lily, so white and elegant!"

"It's her, mum! Isn't her hair light of the Sun?"

"Isn't she a swan amongst farm animals?"

"Speak for yourself, you pig!"

Humming spreads around like fire on straw, and the Royal Guards shut them up effectively. With slow, yet sure, deliberate step, she walks towards her place, beside the general of the military police, on a high altar. The village is there to admire her: the common people in the square, and the soldiers, on the roofs. She recognizes some faces, most of them eccstatic. How many of them will die while she sits on her golden throne? Now, that it her problem too. She still doesn't care about it.

Music lowers gradually, and he waits for the general of the Garrison, Dot Pixis, says his words. The voice of the old man echoes on every stone, but it is not enough to take her out of her apathy. Nothing is.

"Sirs, I here present unto you Historia Reiz, your undoubted Queen. Wherefore all you who have come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

The village howls an affirmative cry, excited, and she brushes her hair off her shoulder, longer than it has ever been, almost pitifully. They swear blindly, they follow her like mosquitoes attracted towards a bright light. It's ridiculous how easily one could win the love of people: tell them you have saved them from the titans in the last mission and that your family is the rightful heir, and there you have it.

It's the time for the vows, so she places her right fist on top of her heart, firm.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples inside the Walls Sina, Rose and Maria, according to their respective laws and customs?"

'I swear to delegate my responsabilities to others and not worry about anything. I swear to provide with money to the Survey Corps, because they have brought me here, to this throne. I swear it because I know that, as soon as I am in my place, they will be the ones wearing my crown.'

Instead of the truth, Historia only says, "I solemnly promise so to do."

With those words, she has signed the contract. Erwin's mouth, the general of the Survey Corps, arches up, drawing a soft smile that could be fatherly, or simply satisfied because at least something is flowing smoothly. With the fist still tight, not relaxing it, like a reflex, she looks for Ymir in the crow. She used to do it in every expedition, with a lump in her throat, to see her perhaps wounded, but with that playful fondness in her eyes that she always tried to hide with bad jokes.

Now, it's different, of course. Ymir is far away, so much that not even her power, now much more greater than anyone would ever hold, reaches her. Even so, she'll look for her. She'll risk the lifes of worthless soldiers just for her. It's the only wish she has. As for the rest, the Survey Corps could kill half of the population. She'll be their doll, but her condition must be heard.

As soon as she hears "As by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?" she answers, like she had been listening the whole time.

"All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me, Walls."

Erwin offers her a hand after he deeply bows at her, and his face is simply happy. She doesn't even touch him, just brushing his palm with the tips of her fingers, following him to the throne, not sitting yet. The general of the military police stands on her right, while Erwin is on her left. Pixis is a little more calm now, waiting for his part of the ritual.

"Here is Responsability. This is the Royal Cape, which holds the weight of your people. All of their lifes are under your protection, now and until the day you die."

It's not necessary for her to crouch, as she is so little, just a child playing to be an adult. The general of the military police covers her shoulders and buckles it on her chest carefully. While he steps back, it's again the moment of Pixis to speak, with the sceptre in his hands.

"Here is Power. This is the Royal Sceptre, object of your legacy. Yours is the Kingdom, and yours the commands."

She raises her hand to grab it and, like it was a wedding ceremony, Dot Pixis, he takes her right hand and gives her the golden object, worth a year of food for the Corps, blessing their union. Historia still smiles a little too broad due to his last words. 'Yours the commands,' he had said! That man is very funny, even sober.

At last, the blond man grabs carefully from its embroided pillow her crown, adapted for her small head, and places before the Queen, hiding her from the people. They dare each other, and he pronounces his words like they were alone:

"Here is Privilege. Oh, Walls, the crown of the faithful. May Queen Historia be blessed and sanctifyied this our queen, and may her royal heart be enriched with abundant grace."

She wasn't aware of the coronations like monologues. How intelligent they all think they are. She narrows her eyes, menacing in her angelic appearance, and straightens her neck to receive the last symbol that will allow her to have that acclaimed power. Erwin is almost surprised, almost, and he steps back to let her shine with all the radiance she has to.

"I, Erwin Smith of the Survey Corps, will be faithful and true, and faith and truth will bear unto you, our Sovereign Lady Historia, Queen of this Realm and Defender of the Walls, and unto your heirs and successors according to law."

An ovation is heard, even though the cannons are rambling. Three cannon balls, one for each Wall that protects the Queen. She puts her fist on her heart again, holding the sceptre, until the explosions are done and she can, for the first time, sit on her throne.

The first ones to kiss her hand are the nobles. Historia doesn't know them, and she listens to her vows with an interested expression. She is sure they all know who she is, the unwanted daughter from a rich nobleman, and they'll whisper behind her back. 'Let them whisper,' she thinks, 'It's all they have now.'

After them, all the soldiers there make a long row to parade in front of her and greet her, one by one. The ones who have treated her personally before congratulate her, and Eren, impulsive, says he hopes that now she is in the place she belongs,  she'll be happy. Armin interrupts the boy with a concealed push and an "I, Armin Arlett, Soldier of the Survey Corps, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks," restoring the monotony. No one lights any spark of happiness or relief inside her, not even the ones who are supposedly her friends. The woman who should be there, amongst them or by her side, is nothing like any of the presents.

Or... Is she? It must be her mind tricking her, because a completely covered figure steps forward, the hood on the face, and rests with the villagers. They are not allowed to touch her or kiss her hand, but they can watch her behind the police cordon and rotate, forced by the people behind them. They all want to see the Queen, but the person remains still, and no one dares to push them away. For just a seconds, Historia thinks she has seen a glimpse of honey and freckles through the hood, but as the figure steps back and blends in the crowd, she isn't so sure. The hand she has raised closes in the air, and the commoners misunderstand it, getting all fired up and forcing the security.

"I think it is time to return to the castle, don't you, Your Grace? You must be tired."

Obviously, it's Erwin who offers it. He is the most interested one in keeping her alive and more or less happy. And Historia, once more, doesn't care about him trying to manipulate her. She gets up and bows at her public with the last, sweet smile, placing her hand on Erwin's elbow. The Queen steps on her heels to murmur:

"I've played my role. Now, bring her to me. Safe and sound, Erwin," she warns him, restrained, until they are behind the castle gates. Once they can't be seen, she steps away from him and points him with her sceptre, menacing him with what she knows will incentivate him the most." If you dare to lay a hand on her, I'll make sure you will never get a coin from my taxes. Every day will be a few less. If I were you, I would hurry."

Because Historia can't wait anymore. It is known, time is very fast for those who are scared, very short for those who celebrate, very long for those who lament, but for those who love, time is eternal.


End file.
